It's a dog-eat-dog, general manager-eat-coach world out there. When you're judged by perfection, perfection usually wins. Most of us know the feeling. As the Bible says, "All have sinned and come short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23).
The Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show is the closest barking pets can get to immortality. For most of them, that's not very close. Today's New York Times tells us about the exception to the rule: Harry, a Dandie Dinmont terrier (whatever that is). His registered name is this essay's title; I have no idea why his first name is abbreviated, except that it may be intended to convey distinguished maturity. (I know a number of famous preachers who go by their first initial and middle name, but J. Clarence Denison never seemed all that charismatic to me.)
Harry's apparently got more going for him than a name a snobbish butler would love. The Times says that he so intimidated his Dandie competition that not another one of his breed bothered to show up. He then won the entire event going away.
Reading the article makes me feel sorry for its hero. The judge measured him by the standard of perfection for his breed, feeling around his body to be sure. I'm willing to bite anyone who tries that with me. He was measured by the ideal for head, height, weight, musculature, coat, body, color, gait and temperament. Then he was evaluated for "charisma and showmanship" (how can a drooling fur ball with fangs be charismatic?). But at the end of the day, all's well that ends well for Harry.
The same was not true of Marty yesterday. Coach Schottenheimer was fired by the NFL's San Diego Chargers after leading his team to a league-best 14-2 regular season record. His feud with the team's general manager was his undoing. And the fact that he hadn't won a playoff game since the earth cooled, or Harry last lost a kennel contest.
It's a dog-eat-dog, general manager-eat-coach world out there. When you're judged by perfection, perfection usually wins. Most of us know the feeling. As the Bible says, "All have sinned and come short of the glory of God" (Romans 3:23). We know our imperfections, so we create what psychologists call an "idealized self," the person we wish we were. We then spend our lives trying to project this false external mask, hiding our real failings as best we can. John Powell titled one of his books, why am I afraid to tell you who I really am? It's because you won't like me very much.
Today's good news is that God grades on the curve. He takes us where he finds us, loving and accepting us as we are. But he loves us too much to leave us there. He's not finished with us until we are like Jesus, "conformed to the likeness of his Son" (Romans 8:29). Where is he working on you today?
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